


Invariable

by pipistrelle



Series: the wonder that's keeping the stars apart [2]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: Episode Tag, Episode s05e18: The Pine Bluff Variant, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Queerplatonic Relationships, The Pine Bluff Variant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-25
Updated: 2014-10-25
Packaged: 2018-02-22 12:23:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2507657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pipistrelle/pseuds/pipistrelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mulder is a man of many talents, but lying to Scully is not one of them.</p>
<p>An episode tag for 5x18, "The Pine Bluff Variant".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Invariable

Mulder rapped twice just below the nameplate with his name on it and stuck his head into the X-Files office. "Hi, uh, I'm here for my ten-fifteen with Dr. Scully?"

Scully was in his chair, leaning forward with her elbows propped on either side of a file spread open on his desk. "Ten-fifteen, huh?" she drawled without looking up. "That makes you twenty minutes late."

"See, I knew you'd say that." Mulder nudged the door open wider, flourishing the cardboard carrier with its two styrofoam cups in one hand and the bakery baggie in the other. "I brought you coffee. Fanciest stuff between here and M street, and still a hell of a lot cheaper than my copay would've been at the ER." He let himself drop into what he thought of as Scully's chair, on the other side of the desk, and started unloading sugar packets and little plastic cups of cream onto the file she was so engrossed in. The cup of coffee he handed her was black as midnight and strong enough to dissolve steel. He knew how Scully took her coffee, of course, but he also knew that she liked to make it herself more than she liked being reminded that he could do it for her.

( _Independent and strongly values her independence_ , the profiler part of his brain commented, but he ignored it. He'd never be able to write a profile on Scully; she was one of a kind.)

She sighed deeply and brushed the coffee debris to one side, closing her file and tucking it back into one of Mulder's precarious stacks. She tapped the desk in front of her and he obediently presented his injured hand for inspection, resting it palm up on a stack of files (detailing attacks by flocks of birds in the Midwest from 1962 through 1975, possibly incited by paranormal activity). Three weeks after the New Spartans incident, the last two fingers of his left hand still twinged, but Scully had declared that he was finally fit to be upgraded from the clunky splint that made typing a frustrating chore.

Scully took his hand in both of hers and darted a brief, searching look at his face before leaning forward to examine his finger. "You look better."

She wasn't just talking about the yellowing mass of bruises around his knuckles, and he knew it. "I feel better," he said, and it was the truth. He'd slept a full five hours last night, more than he had since his run-in with Bremer. He was starting to feel lighter, looser, no longer weighted down by the persona of a traitor to the Bureau. Other agents could change covers like changing coats; Mulder always got involved too deeply, put too much of his own self into the case, and that kind of performance had its aftereffects.

Scully pressed lightly on the skin of his palm, feeling the contours of the small bones there. "Are you still having pain?"

"A little. Mostly when you -- ah! -- do that."

"Sorry," she said absently, releasing the very slight pressure she'd applied to the joint of his little finger. "It seems to be healing well."

"I've got a good doctor."

He grinned as she rolled her eyes. "I'm not an orthopedist, Mulder. You're lucky it was such a clean break, or I would have sent you to Gonzales over at Georgetown for a real evaluation."

"Don't think I would have brought him coffee."

"His loss, I'm sure." Scully laid his hand on the desk and dug into the pocket of her coat for a roll of medical tape, which she carefully wound around his last two fingers, binding them together. Mulder watched her face as she worked.

"Scully," he said, after a minute had ticked by in silence.

"Hmm?"

"I wanted to tell you, you know."

"I know. Skinner said he advised you against it." She pressed the end of the tape carefully into place and let him go. "There. How does it feel? Not too tight?"

"Snug as a bug." Mulder resisted the urge to wiggle his fingers and looked at his partner as she turned her attention to her coffee. She did her best to look wholly absorbed in a sugar packet, but he got the distinct feeling that she was avoiding his eyes. "You're not angry with me, are you, Scully?"

"Angry?" She sighed. "Undercover operations are a part of this job. We knew the risks when we signed on, we knew that some level of secrecy, of, of covert operation might be necessary. It would be completely irrational to be upset with you for following your orders. You were offered an opportunity to take down a dangerous man, it would have been foolish to let it go."

Mulder waited.

Finally Scully set the sugar packet down, a little more forcefully than necessary. "However, I will admit that I don't like putting you in danger out of my own ignorance. And I don't like the feeling that you're hiding something from me."

Mulder leaned back in his chair, smiling with the relief of hearing what she was thinking at last. "I'm not a huge fan, either. It's a lot of work. Has anyone ever told you you're paranoid, Scully?"

The corner of her mouth quirked up, just short of an answering smile. "A few people, yes. But no one that I really trust."

Her hand rested on the desk between them. He leaned forward and covered it with his uninjured one, lightly squeezing her fingers. "Well, now you're hearing it, straight from the horse's mouth."

"I'm not sure I would have picked 'horse'," Scully said drily. Mulder grinned. "There is one thing I don't understand, though."

Mulder let her hand go and leaned back again. "And what's that?"

"Since you were assigned to this deep cover operation, why didn't you do a better job of it?"

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Do a better job? What are you talking about?"

"You've known me for five years, Mulder," she said seriously, all playfulness gone. "We must have worked hundreds of cases together. You know how I think. You could have come up with something I'd believe, some reason for your behavior. You could have even claimed it was -- extraterrestrial mind control, or something, to throw me off the scent."

Mulder couldn't keep a smirk off his face. "Extraterrestrial mind control?"

Scully ignored him. "Instead you just blew me off. I've seen you con your way into guarded government facilities, Mulder. I know you're not that bad of a liar. That entire case proved it."

He was quiet for a moment, trying to think of a way to say _Yes, but none of those people were you_ in a way that wouldn't make her want to examine him for head trauma. Finally he settled for shrugging and saying "Depends on who I'm lying to, I guess."

That descriptive masterpiece wasn't enough for Scully. "But you had to know that that kind of evasive behavior would only make me suspicious. Didn't you worry at all that I would disrupt your investigation?"

Had he? He couldn't recall. Scully was looking at him, expecting an answer. He glanced down, suddenly becoming very interested in the logo on his coffee cup. "Hypothetically speaking, how upset would you be if I told you that I wasn't thinking that hard about it?"

Scully stared at him. "Very," she said at last. "Mulder, my following you -- my suspicion -- could have gotten you killed! You didn't even _think_ about that? It wasn't a factor in your assessment of the risks?"

"Lots of things can get me killed, Scully. For instance, did you know that every year thirty people die from ant attacks?"

She leaned back and crossed her arms over her chest. "Mulder."

"What? Like I said, a lot of things can get me killed. I tend not to put you high on that list."

She stared at him for so long that he thought he would be in for a detailed lecture on all the logical reasons why he should, in certain circumstances, consider even his partner a threat.

Then the sharp frustration in her eyes softened into something very like tenderness. "Oh, Mulder."

He gestured around the office with his cup of coffee, barely avoiding splashing it all over his suit. "We're partners. We're both here because we've spent five years of our lives working to find the truth. Does it really surprise you that I don't like hiding things from you?"

"Surprise me? No," she said wryly. "It frustrates me that you'd compromise your own safety like that, but I wouldn't call it a surprise." She sighed. "If that's how you feel about it, I'll go talk to Skinner and make provisions for us both to be kept in the loop on any future deep-cover assignments."

"I think that's a good idea." As she stood and gathered her things, he added,"And tell him no more terrorists for a while. Doctor's orders."

"Don't worry, I'll tell him," Scully said. Her voice was so mild that Mulder grinned, imagining the fury and scorn that Skinner would face the next time he dared send Mulder to infiltrate so much as a child's birthday party.

Scully stood and handed him the file she'd been reading. "Take a look at that while I'm gone. I found it this morning, I think the M.O. matches that Kansas City case you were telling me about." As she edged around the corner of the desk and past his chair, she let her hand brush over the top of his head, running her fingers lightly through his hair. It was a soft and reassuring touch; Mulder didn't waste time wondering who it was meant to reassure. "And don't say you think it's a banshee, I've already checked and two of the five victims were deaf."

"Don't tell me you've been researching banshees, Scully. Soon you won't need me around at all," Mulder called as she headed for the door.

"I want a real theory," she reminded him. "Twenty minutes, Mulder." The door shut behind her with a _click_.

"All my theories are real," Mulder muttered to the empty office. He took back his chair, leaning it all the way back and propping his feet on his desk in the way he knew Scully hated, and opened the file on his lap. He dug out the bag of sunflower seeds in the bottom desk drawer and glanced at the clock as he split the first one between his teeth. Eighteen minutes before Scully would be back. Time to get to work.


End file.
